


Potential Hazards

by romanticalgirl



Series: OSHA Compliant [4]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2018-04-22 19:22:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4847324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The fall out always lasts longer than anything else</p>
            </blockquote>





	Potential Hazards

Ian glances around and then looks at Mickey. “I don’t get it.”

“What’s to get?” He climbs out of the car and goes to the trunk. “You wanted to hang out. We’re hanging out.”

“You brought me to an archery range.” Ian gestured to the giant bulls-eye sign that probably infringed on all of Target’s trademarks. “I mean, I’ve known you a long time, but that doesn’t mean that, given our recent history, I want to hang out with you and potentially deadly weapons.”

“If I wanted to kill you, Gallagher, I wouldn’t have brought you to a public place.” He slams the trunk and gestures to the entrance with his bow. “Come on.”

Ian gets out of the car and follows Mickey inside. Mickey goes to the counter and talks to the person manning it, and Ian shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks back and forth from his heels to his toes. 

“He shooting?”

“I don’t know. Ian?”

Ian snaps his head up and looks at Mickey. “What? Oh. I’ve never shot before.”

“Give him the starter kid.” Mickey glances back. “Maybe the one with the suction cups, huh?”

“Ha ha.” Ian flips Mickey off and Mickey smiles at him. The cashier rings them up and gives Mickey a simple bow and a quiver of arrows for Ian. Ian follows Mickey out of the building to the range. There are a couple of guys and a few girls standing in lanes. Some have professional grade equipment and others seem to have more basic. “Does that guy have a crossbow?”

“Yeah.” Mickey waves at the guy in question. “Don’t worry. He’s good. You won’t even feel it if he hits you.”

“Oh, I see. You brought me here so someone _else_ could kill me.”

Mickey shrugs. “Maybe.” He gets to the far lane and stops. “Okay, you’ve really never done this before?”

“Bow and arrow aren’t the weapon of choice on the south side. How the fuck do you know how to do this?”

“Bullets are too expensive when you’re trying to go straight.” He holds up a finger, daring Ian to make the joke. Ian mimes zipping his lips. “Focusing on precision and skill seems to work better for me than firing a gun. Discipline. That sort of shit.”

“But how’d you decide on it?”

“Svetlana, actually. She was watching some stupid reality TV show and this guy was hunting with a bow. She said any pussy could fire a gun. I told her Frank couldn’t manage it, but she informed me that Frank didn’t even rate being a pussy. Which I couldn’t argue with. But I got to thinking, and thought I’d give it a shot. No pun intended.”

“Are you any good?”

“I’m okay. Getting better.” He sets his stuff down and brings Ian’s over to him. “Bring Yevgeny sometimes. He’s not a bad shot.”

“It’s weird. I mean, not weird, but kind of weird. The way you are with him.”

Mickey’s eyebrows lifts, and he can feel the bright hot surge of anger and resentment. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“Nothing bad!” Ian shakes his head. “It just used to be really hard for you to be around him. You’ve changed about him.”

“Didn’t have anything else to focus on, and it seemed better than to keep spiraling. I’m lucky Svetlana let me actually be around him. I’d say I think she felt sorry for me, but it’s Svetlana, so I know that’s not the case.”

“Why do you think she did then?”

“Fuck knows. Maybe she just wanted a free babysitter. Maybe she thought I couldn’t handle it and would leave them the fuck alone. I don’t pretend to know what goes on in her head.” He gestures at Ian with the bow. “Stand like this.”

Ian imitates him and then Mickey comes over and puts the bow in Ian’s hand. He presses his hand on top of Ian’s and pushes it down slightly. He can feel Ian’s eyes on him, watching every movement. “There?”

“Yeah. We’ll adjust as we go. Now, take the string like this.” Mickey holds his fingers out to show Ian and Ian copies it. “No. On the string, dipshit.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Ian grips the string.

“Okay. Now.” Mickey reaches out and puts his hand on Ian’s arm since he can’t reach the bow itself then steps up behind him, body against Ian’s. He reaches around with his other hand and places his fingers over Ian’s. “Turn a little more to the left. There.”

Mickey can feel Ian’s breathing speed up slightly, and his own is erratic. He has no clue why the fuck he thought this was a good idea. “There?” Ian glances at Mickey to make sure he’s correct. “This feels weird.”

“Yeah, well, you’ll get used to it. Now, pull back on the string.” Mickey places pressure on Ian’s fingers and pulls back with him. The bow flexes, drawing taut when Ian has the string by his face, fingers perpendicular to his cheek. “That’s good. Now, release like this.” Mickey demonstrates, moving his own fingers. Ian tries and fails, and the bow springs out of his hand. “Okay. Not like that.”

“No shit.”

“Go get it. We’ll try again.”

Ian retrieves the bow and walks back to Mickey. They go through the steps several times until Ian has the release down. At least without the arrow. “My fingers hurt.”

“Do you bitch about everything?” Mickey moves his hands so Ian would pick up the bow again. He walks over and grabbed his own bow as well as the arrows. He notches one in his own bow and pulls back, taking a deep breath before letting it fly.

“Holy shit.” Ian breathes the words and, when Mickey looks over, Ian’s eyes are wide. “That was awesome.”

“Nah. Didn’t hit it very well.”

“I wasn’t talking about that part.” 

Mickey feels a blush rising on his cheeks and he shakes his head. “You think you’re ready to be armed and dangerous?”

“No, but that’s never stopped me before.”

“Am I ready for you to be armed and dangerous?”

“Definitely not.” Ian smiles and Mickey shakes his head. He brings an arrow over to Ian and shows him how to notch it, how to pull it back, how to space the arrow from his cheek. Ian licks his lips. “Mick?”

“Yeah?” He’s trying not to look at Ian, trying not to watch his mouth. 

“Thanks.”

“For what?”

“For...I don’t know. Being friends – friendly - with me. Showing me parts of your life. Not treating me like I’m going to fall apart. Being afraid that I’m going to impale myself on this arrow.”

“That probably wouldn’t kill you, but I don’t know that I’d take my word for it. I guess it depends on where you impaled yourself. Throat’d probably be best.”

“Oh my god. You’ve given this thought, haven’t you?” 

Mickey shrugs and laughs. “Give it a shot, Gallagher.”

“Impaling myself?”

“Fire the fucking arrow.” 

Ian grins and does as he’s told. The arrow gets about halfway to the target before it dies, falling to the ground. “What the shit?”

Mickey grabs another arrow for Ian to notch and then moves behind him again, making sure he’s got the string pulled tight, the arrow held firmly. “Deep breath. Hold it.” Ian breathes in and stills, waiting for Mickey. “Now.”

Ian exhales and lets go of the string. The arrow arches smoothly and hits the outside ring of the target. “Did you see that?” He whirls around and grins widely at Mickey. “Did you see it?”

“Yeah, Gallagher. I’m standing right fucking here.”

Ian lets the bow fall down his arm, string caught in his elbow. He grabs both sides of Mickey’s face and plants a hard kiss on his lips. “Jesus. I hit the target.”

“Hey, Dead shot Dick. You used to be in ROTC. You know, could split a hair at five hundred yards and shit like that.” His heart is pounding and he can’t stop smiling at the pure joy on Ian’s face. “Remember?”

“You don’t get it.” Ian shakes his head and doesn’t release Mickey. “I...I did something new. Something that I hadn’t done before. Something the old me...”

“Hey.” Mickey cuts him off. “Don’t, okay?”

“Don’t what?”

“There’s no old you and new you. There’s just you. Yeah, you did something new, but that was just you, Ian. You didn’t shed a skin or something. You just grew up a little.”

“Caught a disease.”

“Yeah, okay, pretty sure you don’t ‘catch’ bipolar. It’s not a fucking STD. And it’s not a disease. Your moods are shitty and temperamental and they fuck you up. But you’re still that same stupid kid with the floppy fucking hair and stupid smile.”

“I haven’t been that kid for a while.” 

“You acted like him just now.” Mickey takes a step back and grabs two more arrows, passing one off to Ian. “Now, let’s see if that was just a fluke.” 

“You first.”

“All right. Watch and learn.” Mickey notches his arrow and pulls the string. He can feel the sweet spot when he hits it, his thumb brushing the high curve of his cheekbone. He breathes in and holds it like he taught Ian. He closes his eyes for a moment and then opens them, exhales, fires.

“Jesus.” Ian says it reverently and turns from where he’s staring at Mickey’s bull’s eye. “You know, I used to admire you. Be impressed by how completely badass you were. You weren’t afraid of anything. Seemed like you could do anything. I still think that.”

“Well, you need better role models.”

“No. You’ve come so far. Changed, but you’re still you. That’s what you mean, right? You’re still Mickey Milkovich, shithead extraordinaire, bad boy of the south side, but you’re a dad, and a hard worker, and apparently really good at archery.”

“Shut the fuck up, Robin Hood. Take your shot.”

Ian laughs and then settles down, breathing with every arrow he lets fly. He gets better, has more control and, by the end of the quiver, Mickey’s blatantly staring at him. He hadn’t forgotten how beautiful Ian was, but he hadn’t remembered it quite right either. He clears his throat and shakes his head before Ian turns around and looks at him. “What now?”

“We go get our arrows. The ones with the gray notching are mine.” Ian laughs and Mickey glares at him. “What?”

“You have your own arrows.”

“So?”

“I just love it. That other people get to see the Mickey I always saw.”

“Guess I just needed some asshole redhead to get me to lighten up, huh?”

“You needed your shithead dad to go to prison so you could be yourself.” Ian clears his throat as Mickey calls out that they’re retrieving their arrows so that people on either side of them will stop shooting. Ian walks next to him and picks up the couple he’d fired that hadn’t made it all the way to the target. “But maybe I helped.”

“You helped.” Mickey stays quiet after that and Ian does too. It’s not an awkward silence like Mickey expects though. It’s quiet. Peaceful. It’s like the moments when they would just be on Ian’s bed or on their bed and be together. Not sex, not arguing, not even talking. Just safety. Contentment. 

They walk back to the front desk and turn in Ian’s quiver and bow. “How’d the tyro do?”

“Not too bad. He hit more than he missed.”

“Huh. Who knew he had it in him. See ya, Mick.”

Mickey waves and heads outside, Ian on his heels. “This was fun. I had fun.” Ian reaches out and catches Mickey’s arm to stop him. “Thank you.”

“So we’re cool now, right? We’ve hung out. It’s all good.”

“Oh.” Ian’s face falls. “I didn’t realize we were...I didn’t realize this was just getting stuff out of our system.”

Mickey opens the trunk which saves him from having to look at Ian. “What did you expect?”

“That we’d...I don’t know. Hang out. Do this again.” Ian shrugs and Mickey shuts the trunk, careful not to slam it. Ian looks exactly like Mickey pictured he would – uncertain and wary and hopeful all at once. “It’d be nice. To have...have a friend, you know? You know all of the bad shit, so I don’t have to break you in.”

“Break me in?”

Ian shrugs. “You know what I mean.”

“You want to be friends because I’m comfortable and safe.” Mickey laughs. “I think I’m insulted.” He gets in the car and waits for Ian. Ian slides in and looks out the window. “Hey.”

“I didn’t mean to insult you.”

“Hey.” Mickey reaches out and touches Ian’s forearm, stroking his thumb over it a couple of times. “I was kidding. If I was really insulted, I would have driven off and left your ass here.”

Ian looks down at Mickey’s hand and then looks up at him with a smile. “You want to help me with something?”

“What?”

“I want to find a place to live. My own place. I’m earning decent money. I have insurance that pays for my meds. I’m sticking to my therapy schedule. And...well, I’d like to stop feeling like I’m being watched every second. Like someone’s waiting for me to slip up. You know?”

Mickey nods. “So you want me to...”

“Help me find somewhere. Cheap enough that I can afford it and still manage to eat and stuff. But nice? Nothing too rundown.”

“I’m not exactly a real estate agent.”

“How’d you find your place?”

“You really want to know?”

“Yeah.”

Mickey drove for a while then laughed. “Svetlana had a friend that used to turn tricks there. I’m subletting from her. She’s not supposed to, but I guess having me there is preferable to having strange men come and go all the time. Literally.”

“What about when you bring home strange men?” Ian’s voice is light, so the question doesn’t bother Mickey as much as it probably should. 

“I don’t.” He glances over and sees Ian’s frown. “I don’t bring guys home. I either go to their place or we fuck in the bathroom or an alley or something.”

“Why?”

“It’s where I live with my kid. If I’m going to bring someone home, I want it to...I don’t know. Not be a one-night stand.”

Ian’s quiet for a while. “You haven’t...been with anyone? In a relationship?”

“No. Gun-shy.” He says it softly. “I didn’t want to get hurt again. Didn’t want to even...I mean, no one was going to be you, but the thought of...” Mickey bites his lower lip hard and taps the steering wheel with his thumb. “The first six or nine months were bad. Well, bad and worse. Anyone who got near me was nearly as toxic as I was. And after that I was so focused on fixing _me_ , getting my shit right that I wasn’t looking. And then...sex has pretty much always just been sex. No one looks at me for the long term, and that’s fine with me.”

“But you think about it. Otherwise it wouldn’t bother you enough to not bring them home.” Ian’s voice doesn’t have any inflection in it and Mickey sighs. He knows Ian’s watching him, but he doesn’t really know how to respond. “I’m sorry that I hurt you so badly. Well, at all, but especially so badly.”

“Didn’t do it on purpose. I get that.”

“No. Don’t excuse it. The person I was when I broke up with you wasn’t because of the bipolar or the meds or lack of meds. It was just me being afraid. Afraid I’d hurt you. Afraid I’d push you away. Afraid you’d hate me when you realized I was a mess. I was afraid of all the things I did. Kind of ironic. Or really fucking stupid. But I wasn’t really thinking clearly. I was _reacting_. I saw Monica’s life and I realized how much I didn’t want to be that way, but what if...what if she was the one that _made_ people that way? What if like didn’t attract like? What if she met someone and turned them into someone else just by being her?”

“Pretty sure that’s not how it works.” Mickey doesn’t look at him, isn’t sure he can. “And you ended up doing all those things anyway. Doing them period. If you’d have...trusted me. Let me give a shit about you.”

“I didn’t want to be taken care of.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me to back the fuck off? Why didn’t you talk to me? Why’d you just take it all and then push me away? Can you tell me that?” Mickey keeps his voice calm. The questions are almost rote by now, he’s asked them so many times in his head as he tried to figure out what had happened, where it all went sideways. 

“No.” Ian laughs roughly. “I wish I could explain it. I wish I could tell you why I did it. I wish it made fucking sense. It was all so fucking unfair. Why me, you know? What did I do? Bad enough that I wasn’t really Frank’s kid, that they weren’t all really my family like they were each others. Bad enough that I wasn’t anything special to any of them.”

“You were special to me.” Mickey’s voice breaks this time and he can’t look at Ian.

Ian’s voice is soft. “I know. And I used it to hurt you, because I was hurting. And that sucks and it’s completely unfair and you didn’t deserve that. You didn’t deserve any of the things I did to you.” He slumps in his seat and rubs his face with both of his hands. “I lashed out at you because you loved me, and I didn’t think I deserved it.”

Mickey laughs, the sound edging on hysterical by the time he stops. “That’s fucking rich. Is this where you make it my fault? You ran after me every time I did that, so why didn’t I fucking run after you?”

“What? No! Jesus, Mickey. No.” Ian reaches out and touches Mickey’s arm. “Fuck. No. I didn’t mean that at all! I loved you so much. And...I didn’t want to feel. It’s funny. I said they made me feel like a zombie and I didn’t want that, but I did in a way. I didn’t want to feel, because I was so tired of hurting.”

Mickey pulls into the parking lot where they’d met up and turns the car off, sighing heavily. “What are you trying to say, Ian?”

“I thought I was suppose to love you enough to let you go. And...and I knew you wouldn’t go unless I...”

“Unless I thought I was a joke to you. Pathetic Mickey Milkovich. From bad guy to whipped pussy in a few simple steps. The thing is, Ian? I believed it.” He laughs softly, sadly. “I believed it.”

“It was never true.”

Mickey reaches in front of Ian and shoves the door open. “You made it true.”

**

Mickey and Ian keep their distance from each other for a couple of weeks, only dealing with each other for work purposes. Mickey’s surprised at how much he misses just hanging out with Ian. They’d managed it a few times before the aftermath of the archery range, and he kind of hates that it’s something he misses. Missing Ian isn’t something he’s supposed to do anymore.

“Hey.” Mickey looks up from his computer and uses his fists to push his glasses up so he can rub his eyes. Ian’s leaning against the door frame. He holds up a plastic bag and the smell of barbecue drifts toward Mickey. “Hungry?”

Mickey doesn’t bother to pretend he’s not, especially since his stomach growls like a fucking beast. “Aren’t you on shift?”

“It’s eight. My shift just ended. Yours ended four hours ago.”

“Shit.” He takes his glasses off and tosses them onto the desk. He rubs his eyes with his thumb and fingers hard enough to see stars. “I didn’t realize it was so late.”

“What are you up to?” Ian drags a folding chair alongside Mickey’s desk and shoves a few papers over so he can unpack the food. He glances at Mickey’s computer and scrunches up his nose. “Something fun, I see.”

“Monthly reports. So many reports. Now that we’ve got the new swing shift account, I’ve got three cycles and four segments to deal with. Inventory control is a fucking nightmare. They’re supposed to hire someone to work logistics, but until then, it’s all me.”

“How’d you get this job? Brisket or pulled pork?”

“Both.” Mickey looks at everything Ian’s spreading out on his desk. Beans and coleslaw, cornbread and macaroni and cheese. Mickey stomach grumbles again and he sighs. “Shit. That looks fucking delicious.”

Ian pulls out two paper plates and starts dishing them both full. He takes the bread off the pulled pork sandwich and splits the meat between the two plates and then pulls the brisket apart to share. “Someone told me about this place. Let’s hope they weren’t lying.” He pulls two soda cans out of the bag and hands one to Mickey before opening his and holding it up. “A toast.”

“What the fuck to?”

Ian shrugs. “Good food?”

“Fuck yes.” Mickey grabs one of the forks and leans over, taking a bite of the pork into his mouth. It’s hot and tangy and falls apart on his tongue and he groans. He doesn’t even finish chewing before he speaks. “Holy shit.”

Ian grins and takes a bite of his own. He makes a noise almost the same as Mickeys. “I think I’m having an orgasm. I’ve figured out what to do when the pills kill my libido.”

Mickey looks startled then laughs. “Jesus, Gallagher.”

Ian grins. “Dig in. C’mon.”

They eat in mostly silence, though it’s punctuated with noises as they sample each side as well as the meat. Mickey’s not sure if Ian’s making the noises sometimes or if he’s mimicking Mickey, but the food’s so good he doesn’t care. They finish about the same time, and Mickey sucks each of his fingers into his mouth and cleans barbecue sauce off of them. He looks up and Ian’s watching him. He shakes his head as Mickey catches his eye and rubs his hands off with the moist towelettes that had come with the food. The room smells sharply of lemon for a moment before it fades away. 

“So.” Mickey leans back in his chair and yawns, his whole body sated and relaxed. “What was that for?”

Ian shrugs and then sighs, looking at Mickey. “An apology, I guess. I mean, I am apologizing, but I’m not sure if that’s the right word for it. I’ve been trying so hard to be normal, that I’ve been pushing you to...be part of that normal. Because you were before. And I know that’s not fair to you. So, basically, this is an ‘I’m a dick but please don’t hate me completely’ dinner.”

“I don’t hate you.”

Ian nods and then frowns. “You forgot part.”

“What? You think I’m going to say you’re not a dick? Dream on.” Mickey snorts a laugh. “Look, Ian.” He takes a deep breath and exhales roughly. “It’s not what it was. It can’t be. But this is nice. Being friends. Trying to be friends. Maybe it took a long time, but I realized before that I like you. A lot. You’re fun and funny and smart and sharp. Being around you is...I like being around you. I’m scared though. Because I could start to...to love it again. Love you. It’d be so fucking easy, and I’m...petrified of it. Because I don’t think I can do it again. Put myself out there like that. Even if I wanted to, even if I knew it was safe. I haven’t done it since you, and I don’t think I can do it with you either. So I can be your friend. It’s going to be hard sometimes, but I’d like to be your friend. Just...but you’re going to have to accept that that’s all it’s going to be. And that rehashing what we had isn’t going to do either of us any favors.”

“Okay.”

“So...if you haven’t found a place yet, maybe I can help you look.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” He chews on his upper lip and then grabs his glasses to put them back on. “But this is between us, okay? No telling your family. I won’t tell Mandy or Svetlana. They’re not going to be willing to see that we’re trying to be friends. They’ll just assume we’re jumping back into everything with both feet. And I’m not...fuck, Yevgeny matters to me now. Don’t ask me why or how. He was everything I hated about my life and myself, but after you and after jail and after doing my best to fuck up my life, I looked at him and he just seemed to trust me. Who the fuck knows why, but he did. He needed me. And no one else did at the time.”

“I’m sor...”

“No. Dude. I’m not trying to make you feel bad. It’s just facts. Maybe what happened with us was good in the long run.”

“You believe that?” Ian frowns down at his soda can. “That it was a good thing?”

“I think not everything that came out of it was bad. I got to know my son. Be a dad. Shit, starting with you, I got to do a lot of the things I never even let myself dream of when I was growing up, because I didn’t believe I had a shot at being a dad, much less a good one. I never had any fucking intention of coming out or falling for that goofy fucking Gallagher kid enough that I faced down Terry fucking Milkovich to be with him. I never thought I’d have a real fucking job. Did you know that you have to have a social security number? I thought those were just for stealing identities.” 

Ian’s smile blossoms into an actual laugh. “I’m glad.” His voice is soft, but his smile and eyes are bright. “You deserve every one of those things.”

“So, yeah.” Mickey shrugs again. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Ian’s smile dims slightly, but not in a bad way. He’s still happy. Mickey can see that much. “Can I ask one thing?”

“Sure.”

“Do you think...I’m not saying this is what I want us to try for or anything like that, I just want to know if the possibility even exists.” At Mickey’s raised eyebrows, Ian clears his throat. “Do you think you could...ever...”

“I don’t know. It’s not something I can even think about. So, could it happen? I imagine. Will it? I’ve got no clue. Should it? Even less clue. But I’m not trying for it. And you shouldn’t either. Because then, if it does, it’ll...be what it is, and not what we try to make it.”

Ian nods. “You’re buying dinner next time.”

“How about a movie on Thursday night?”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I’m sure.”

“Okay.” Ian dumps all the food remains into the bag and leans closer to look at the computer screen. “You need any help with this?”

“You have no idea how much.”

**

Mickey stumbles to his front door and opens it, cutting off the loud pounding, hopefully before it wakes all of his neighbors. He blinks blearily until his brain processes what’s in front of him and then he’s wide awake. “Svetlana? What’s wrong?”

“You are lying asshole.” She shoves him hard into the apartment and slams the door shut behind her as he stumbles backwards. “You put Yevgeny at risk _again_.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” She slaps him hard across the face and Mickey grabs her wrist before she can do much more and twists it, turning her around so her arm’s bent against her back. “What. The. Fuck?”

“I see him tonight. He is in Alibi with family.”

“Who?”

“Redhead asshole.” 

“So?”

She struggles out of his grip. Her eyes are flashing and her face is flushed. She looks like she wants to rip out his throat. “He looks at me. He smiles. Like he thinks it is okay between us. Like all is all right.”

“So? What the fuck does that have to do with me?”

“You are with him again.”

“No. I’m not.”

“You are. I see in your face. In his. You think I am stupid?”

Mickey takes a deep breath and forces himself to let it out slowly. “We work together. We’re cordial to each other.”

“Bullshit! You do not know how to not love him. You are stupidest man alive!” She slaps him again before Mickey can stop her. “You are stupid boy who believes in love. Love is not real. He seems nice? _Normal_? He is crazy. Will be always. But you. You are stupid on purpose. I come to get Yevgeny and his things. He can say goodbye.”

“What?” Mickey freezes, his throat tightening. “What the fuck’d you say?”

“Is not your son. Have green card now. Don’t need you or your name.” She yells something in Russian and Mickey just stands there. Yevgeny pokes his head out of the bedroom, his eyes wide. “Say goodbye.”

“You cunt.” Mickey hisses. “You think that he’s not my son because I didn’t knock you up? You think none of this has mattered to me? To him?”

She says more in Russian and Yevgeny creeps into the living room. He’s wearing his pajamas and has his bag on his arm, three of his favorite stuffed animals in his arms. He keeps his head down, but Mickey can still see the glint of tears in his eyes as he goes to stand behind Svetlana. 

Mickey’s chest seizes and he can’t manage to breathe as he sinks down to his knees. “C’mere, little man.” Yevgeny doesn’t move and Mickey bites his lower lip hard enough that he tastes blood. “Okay. Yeah. Okay.”

Svetlana looks down at Yevgeny. “You have everything?”

“Da.”

She looks at Mickey on his knees and her smile twists. “I hoped you were better man. But you are pig just like the rest. Come, Yevgeny.” She strides to the door and Mickey doesn’t move. He just watches Yevgeny stand there. He starts toward the door and turns around, coming back to stand in front of Mickey. 

“I left Capone for you, papa. So you won’t get lonely.”

Mickey nods and a tear slips down his cheek. He manages a small smile and he sniffs. “Thanks, buddy. Take care of your mom, okay?” His voice breaks, but he’s pretty sure Yevgeny doesn’t notice. “Grow up good.”

Yevgeny nods, so serious. “I love you, papa.”

Mickey nods harder and grabs him, hugging him tight. He presses his face against Yevgeny’s shoulder, trying hard not to stain his shirt with tears. “I love you too.”

“Yevgeny.” Svetlana’s voice is softer than Mickey’s ever heard it. “Time to go.”

Yevgeny steps back and Mickey hands him the stuffed animals he’d dropped. “Be good.”

Yevgeny nods again and goes to the door. Svetlana puts her hand on the back of his shoulder and has him put his animals in the bag he’d brought. Mickey wonders if they’ll end up in the trash somewhere. The door closes behind them. Mickey sinks back onto his heels and scrubs his face with his hands. He’s not sure how long he sits like that before he gets to his feet and walks into the bedroom. In the middle of the trundle bed pillow is Yevgeny's stuffed dachshund puppy, Capone. Mickey sits on the bed and picks him up, staring at him for a long time before throwing the goddamned thing across the room.

**

He calls in to work and tells them he has a family emergency. Lies and says he’ll be out for a week. Then he finds the nearest bar that’s open and starts drinking. He tells the bartender to line up a bottle full of shots and the guy does so with the bored air of someone who stopped giving a shit a long time ago. Mickey drinks them instead of downing them. He wants to feel every second of burn. He wants it to last. He’s drunk when he orders the second bottle and wonders if he’s built up an immunity to excessive alcohol or if another bottle with require him to have his stomach pumped.

He thinks about it for all of ten seconds then orders the next line of shots. He’s halfway through the third bottle and he doesn’t know what time it is. He’s pretty sure it’s a different bartender, and his ass feels like he’s been sitting for days. He glances at his phone and it’s been a good seven hours since he started which is probably why he’s still alive. Either that or the fucker serving him is watering down his drinks. 

Since he has his phone out he starts scrolling through his contacts. He stares at Yevgeny’s picture that substitutes for Svetlana on his phone and deletes it before he can think about it too much. He doesn’t have a ton of people in his phone anymore. No need for dealers and buyers and sellers anymore. He thinks about calling Mandy, but she’ll just yell at him. Instead he calls Ian.

He gets a machine and listens to Ian’s voice on the message before he hangs up. He does it twice more before finally speaking. “Hey. It’s Mickey. I’m at a bar. What bar am I at?” Someone yells the name out and Mickey repeats it. “I’m here. And I’m drunk off my ass. And fuck if I’ve got anyone else I can call. So, you know. If you want to come out here after work. I’ll buy you a drink. If I don’t drink ‘em all by then.” He’s quiet for a minute. “I’d...please?”

He hangs up and closes his eyes tight, rubbing them with his fingers. He’s not sure how long he’s been sitting like that when someone settles on the stool beside him. He knows it’s Ian. He’s too attuned to him not to know, but he still doesn’t move or say anything. Ian orders a soda and sits there quietly. Mickey imagines it’s costing Ian a lot to not say anything. 

The ice clinks in Ian’s glass and Mickey finally takes his hand away from his eyes. “Svetlana took Yevgeny away.”

“What?”

“Showed up in the middle of the night last night and said shit to him in Russian and then they left. For good.”

“How...”

“You know what sucks? I thought she...I don’t know. I thought it mattered that I wanted him around. That I wanted to be a dad to him. But maybe she was just biding her time all along. Looking for a reason. An excuse.” He’s quiet and Ian stays quiet beside him. Mickey can practically hear all the questions Ian isn’t asking. “I want you to take me home and fuck me.”

“What?”

“I want you to take me home and fuck me. I want you to fuck me senseless. I promised myself that I’d never ask you for anything, but...but I’m asking you for this.”

“Mickey.”

“Just do this.” He looks at Ian, and the shock on Ian’s face tells Mickey that he probably looks as shitty as he feels. “Jesus. You fucking at least owe me that.”

“I don’t want to fuck you, Mickey.”

Mickey hiccups something between a sob and a laugh, but it ends up being a full-blown fit of laughter, hard and painful and enough to make Mickey’s ribs and back hurt. “Christ. Take me home. Or put me in a cab. Or...fucking shoot me in the fucking head.” He slides off his stool, stumbling backwards, only Ian grabbing his arm quickly keeping him from ending up on his ass. “Maybe find your fucking sister and have her shoot me. I won’t run this time.”

“You’re drunk.”

“No fucking shit.”

“Come on. Give me your address and I’ll take you home.” He pays Mickey’s bill then leads him out to the parking lot. “Keys.”

Mickey fishes them out of his pocket and hands them over, too tired to fight. Ian waves for Mickey’s wallet for his address and then puts Mickey in the car. Mickey closes his eyes and rests his head against the window. “Why?”

“Why what?”

Mickey shrugs. “Why don’t you want to fuck me?”

Ian sighs out a deep breath. “I do want to fuck you. But you’re drunk and we’re trying to be friends. You’re hurting. I don’t want to make it worse. I’m tired of hurting you.”

Mickey nods and wishes he could be mad. Instead he’ll probably end up being grateful. Which might be worse. “Can you help me with something?”

“What?”

“All his shit at my place. I can’t...I can’t do it, you know? I can hardly look at it. Toys and clothes and shit. What am I going to do with it all?”

“You sure she won’t change her mind?”

Mickey finally opens his eyes and looks at Ian. “You’ve met her. What do you think?”

Ian nods and then glances over quickly. “Is this because of me?”

“No.”

“It is, isn’t it? Because I saw her at the Alibi? I was just there meeting Lip and Fiona. Frank’s at the house right now, and we didn’t want to talk in front of him. I kept looking over at her because she was glaring daggers at me. I was...I don’t know. She scares the fuck out of me.”

“He’s not mine.”

Ian’s quiet for several blocks, and when he does speak, Mickey doesn’t recognize his voice. “He’s why you got married.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t know he wasn’t mine. And it’s not like my father cared who knocked her up. All he cared about was _not_ having a...what’d he call me? Pole-smoking faggot? AIDS monkey? Whatever. He wasn’t about to have a gay son, so he figured her fucking me and me marrying her was the way to solve that little problem. If I didn’t look gay or act gay then I wasn’t gay. If I was married I wouldn’t be fucking dudes. And then...Then you left and he got what he wanted, because the only person I wanted was you.” Mickey shrugs. “Not that it matters. Too late to change it.”

“Mickey...”

“Don’t. He wanted to fuck up my life and he did. He wanted me to be straight and I was the best goddamned straight guy I could be. Which, in the long run, wasn’t very good.” He laughs and thumps his head back against the headrest. “Pull over there.”

“There’s no house there.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to fucking vomit in my car.”

Ian pulls over quickly and Mickey gets the door open. He unhooks his seat belt and tumbles out of the car, making it to the grass before he loses the contents of his stomach. It’s mostly liquid and it hurts like hell coming up. Ian stops the car and gets out, leaning against it until Mickey’s managed to get to the dry heave stage. Mickey stays hunched over, gagging still and Ian squats down beside him, offering him a bottle of water. “This was in the car.”

Mickey takes it and sloshes some around in his mouth then spits it out. He does it again and then drinks the rest of the water. He starts laughing and then he’s crying without knowing when it changes. Ian sits on the grass next to him and tugs Mickey in against him, hand curving around the back of Mickey’s head and pressing him against Ian’s chest. Mickey’s whole body shakes with sobs, and he can’t seem to make them stop. 

He quiets after a while and they just sit there, Ian slowly stroking his hand down over the back of Mickey’s head. “If you had done that during sex, I would have had a major complex.”

Mickey raises his head and looks at Ian. He knows he’s a mess. He can see that from the snot and tears he left on Ian’s shirt. “You’re such a dick.”

“Thinking with it maybe.”

Mickey laughs, the sound thick with his tears. He nods and sniffs. “Can you take me home?”

“Yeah.” Ian gets up and helps Mickey to his feet. “Come on.”

**

Mickey’s head is pounding the next morning when he wakes up and his mouth feels like he chewed on roadkill and then drank vinegar. He goes into the bathroom and drinks four glasses of water and then brushes his teeth three times before he actually allows himself to look in the mirror.

He looks worse than he feels, which he didn’t think was possible. Digging in the cabinet for his aspirin, he takes six and then leans his head on the wall. He smells coffee and starts, but then he has a hazy memory of Ian. Taking a deep breath, Mickey goes out into the living room wishing he could remember more. Until he does remember and has to grab onto the sofa. 

“Mick?” Ian comes out of the kitchen and frowns, hurrying over to him. “Hey. You okay?”

“Just remembered.”

“Oh. Yeah. Come sit at the table.” Ian takes Mickey’s arm and gets him to a chair and then goes back into the kitchen. Mickey vaguely watches Ian, eyes skimming down his bare back, over his worn jeans down to his bare feet. Mickey rubs his aching forehead, looking up when Ian walks back in. Ian’s jeans are buttoned and the zipper’s not quite up, like he was getting dressed when he heard Mickey wake up and hurried in to make coffee. “Drink this. It’ll probably make you feel less like death.”

“Not sure about that.” Mickey closes his eyes and inhales the smell before taking a sip. He can taste the hint of sugar and something tightens in his chest at the thought that Ian remembers how he likes his coffee. “Time is it?”

“Ten.”

“Shit. You have to get to work.”

“Got Dante to cover my shift. Took a sick day.”

“Yeah, you can’t do that. You need your days in case you have a swing.” Ian brings his cup over to the table and sits down across from Mickey. “Go to work, Ian.”

“No. You’re going to drink your coffee and go back to bed while I clean things up. Then I’m going to borrow your car and haul everything away. Then I’m going to come back and make dinner, which from the contents of your shelves will be either Beef-A-Roni, Spaghetti-Os, or chili.” He glances at Mickey with determination. “And you’re not going to argue.”

Mickey opens his mouth then sighs, letting go of the fight he’d been ready to instigate. “Chili. The others are for...donation to a homeless shelter or something, I guess.”

Ian drinks more of his coffee, and Mickey can feel him watching him. He ignores him as best he can, because Ian always saw more of Mickey than he ever wanted to show. “I can crash here again if you want. Just hang out. We could watch bad horror movies and order pizza instead. I can pick up some microwave popcorn and then I’ll check for monsters under your bed before you go to sleep.”

Mickey flips him off, but Ian takes it in stride. Mickey can see Ian’s smile from beneath his lashes. “You always pick shit movies.”

“Then you pick. But they have to be horror. I don’t want to deal with any of that ‘Notebook’ sort of shit.” Ian barely manages to keep from laughing at Mickey’s look. He grabs Mickey’s cup and carries it to the sink and rinses it out. “Go crash for a couple more hours. Leave everything to me.”

Mickey nods and gets up, heading for his bedroom. Halfway there he stops and turns around. “Ian?”

Ian looks up, seemingly surprised by Mickey’s voice. “Yeah?”

He’s not quite sure what to say or how to say it, so he just shrugs. 

Ian nods and gives Mickey the ghost of a smile. "You're welcome."


End file.
